


swallowing matches

by pann_cake



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment, ambrollins - Fandom
Genre: M/M, angst so much angst, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 13:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16662167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pann_cake/pseuds/pann_cake
Summary: There it is. That damned red sports car, the burning barrel next to it, and Dean lounging on the hood grinning lazily. Waiting.“Youson of a bitch!” Seth snarls, the words ripped from his throat as he goes into a full sprint towards the car. Dean’s smug smile is wiped off his face with a jerk when Seth grabs him by the jacket and launches him bodily off the hood and to the ground.





	swallowing matches

**Author's Note:**

> You swallowing matches and suddenly I’m yelling _Strike me. Strike anywhere._  
>  I swear, I end up feeling empty, like you’ve taken something out of me, and I have to search  
> my body for the scars, thinking  
>  _Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in?_  
>  \--[Richard Siken, "Wishbone"](http://sharingpoetry.tumblr.com/post/34002559483/richard-siken-wishbone)

**Monday, 11/12/18**

The parking lot video had done _exactly_ what Dean wanted it to do--it made Seth a desperate man. Until that point, Seth had been holding on hope that with a little more time, maybe they could work this out. That Dean would cool off and actually _talk_ to him. But the words he says are carefully planned bullets-- _who’s the architect now?_ \--meant to leave Seth’s heart in ribbons. 

Seth is speechless in their wake, frozen, and it’s the burning vest that finally gets his blood pumping again. He shoves his title at Corey with a muttered, “Hold onto this for me,” and then he marches out of the ring, up the ramp, through the bowels of the arena. He ignores everyone who tries to cool him down or reason with him, and the only one stupid enough to get in his way and try to stop him before he does something stupid is Finn. But Seth can’t hear him, it’s like he’s underwater, his ears and lungs filling with fluid and there’s only one escape. He shoves Finn away and keeps going until he’s finally out the back doors and up the ramp from the parking garage and--

There it is. That damned red sports car, the burning barrel next to it, and Dean lounging on the hood grinning lazily. Waiting. 

“You _son of a bitch_!” Seth snarls, the words ripped from his throat as he goes into a full sprint towards the car. Dean’s smug smile is wiped off his face with a jerk when Seth grabs him by the jacket and launches him bodily off the hood and to the ground.

It’s a flurry of fists colliding with jaws, hands yanking at hair, curse words thrown at each other like daggers as they try to tear each other apart right there in the parking lot. Seth has never felt like this in a fight before, this white-hot blinding _anger_ , and in the back of his mind he realizes that maybe this is what Dean feels _all the time_. 

The moment of hesitation comes with a sucker-punch to his eye socket, and Seth reels back, stunned for just long enough for Dean to kick him squarely in the gut and send him careening into the still-burning barrel. Seth crashes into it, and it spills out behind him with a clatter and a sizzle, and he has to flinch away from the burst of heat and the sparks. 

In the commotion, Dean has run off towards the car again. With a growl, Seth forces himself to his feet. “ _Ambrose_!” he screams out, but Dean is already getting in, shutting the door, tires squealing. 

Seth uses every last ounce of strength he has to hit a dead run, fueled by fire, lungs burning, and before Dean can get away Seth _tosses himself_ in front of the car. 

He hits the hood with a thud, hits the windshield even harder, and when Dean slams on the breaks Seth goes rolling back the way he came until he lands on the concrete and lays there, still. 

There’s a ringing in his ears, and laying in the headlights isn’t helping when he tries to blink his eyes open. Seth can’t bring himself to move, and his pain-addled mind fully expects Dean to just back up and leave him there. He’s only dimly aware of rolling onto his back, of a string of curse words-- _holy fucking shit, Rollins, you fucker!_ Then a pair of hands haul him up, shove him in the backseat, and Seth is only aware of the _ding ding ding_ inside the car until the door is closed again and then--silence. 

\--

He wakes up with a groan, in the dark, his head throbbing and _everything_ aching, and Seth has no idea where he is. The vibrations beneath him increase in intensity--loud in the small space to his still-ringing ears--there’s a shudder as the car switches gears, then it smoothes out again. Seth’s mind is foggy, the pain cutting through that space between dreams and reality, and Seth has to fight back a memory--him in the driver’s seat, Dean’s sarcastic voice asking him _Who taught you to drive stick?_ and Seth’s reply through gritted teeth as the gears grind beneath him, _You did, dumbass._ He must make another noise because Dean turns from the driver’s seat to look at him for a second. 

“ _Jesus fuck_ ,” Dean hisses at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“ _Me_?” Seth asks, aghast even through the pain. He tries to sit up, then decides against it and sinks gingerly back down in the backseat. “ _You_ did this.”

“I didn’t _jump in front of a car_ , you maniac.”

Seth swallows a comment about who’s acting like a _maniac_ lately--pot, meet kettle--and just closes his eyes for a moment. There’s no point in hurling more angry words at him, he tried that last week and look where it got him. Provoking Dean into anger, into action, into _anything_ , didn’t work--yet here Seth is, _provoked_.

“Where are we?” he groans instead, bringing the palm of his hand up to his head, feeling for blood. His face is scraped up--from the road or from Dean’s fists, he doesn’t know--but besides that he’s not busted open which is a relief. 

“On the way to the hospital,” Dean says, and Seth makes a noise of protest and tries to sit up again. “Stop _whining_. And lay still, you probably have a concussion.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” he spits out, but he hears Dean just chuckle in response. 

“Famous last words,” Dean grumbles. 

“No hospital. Dean, I mean it.” Seth does listen though, he lowers himself gently back onto the seat, laying on his back across the length of the car, his sore and bruised body protesting with even that effort. He covers his eyes with his forearm, and a heavy silence fills the car. The only sound is the rumble of the engine as the car cruises along the dark highway, and it all feels surreal to Seth. Being in the car with Dean this late at night is _normal_ \--sharing fries from a fast food bag, Seth behind the wheel and Dean trying not to get them lost and sometimes failing, Dean scrolling through static on the radio until he finds a classic rock station, Dean singing with the windows down, Dean, Dean, _Dean_. 

“Seth?” His voice wakes him before Seth even realized he had passed out again, and when he opens his eyes Dean is _right there_. They’ve stopped, and the back door is open and Dean is leaning in, a hand on his shoulder that he abruptly pulls back when he sees Seth is awake again. He’s upside down to him, but Dean’s face is so close, and Seth would give anything to be able to pull him towards him...but he doesn’t.

“Where are we?” he asks again, and Dean huffs like he’s getting sick of his shit. 

“Rest stop,” he assures him. “If you won’t go to the hospital you at least need ice.”

“ _Now_ you give a shit what happens to me?” Seth grumbles, and Dean shakes his head and pulls away from him, rocks back on his heels still crouched in the open door. 

“Shut the fuck up, Rollins. I know what you’re thinking. You get treated at the hospital, they tell you you got a concussion, you ain’t working Sunday.” 

It’s true, Seth can’t deny it so he doesn’t try to. Dean just laughs into his silence. 

“Nakamura’s gonna destroy you.” He stands up, then reaches a hand out to Seth. “Sit up. You gotta stay awake.” 

Begrudgingly, Seth takes his hand and Dean hauls him up until he’s sitting, more gently than Seth expected. Then Dean leaves without another word, heading towards the rest stop store and leaving Seth alone with his thoughts.

He can’t believe he’s here right now, in the back of Dean’s car of all places, in the middle of nowhere. If he was smart, he would have just let it go. He wouldn’t have let Dean’s words and actions rile him up like this. He wouldn’t have chased after him like a man possessed, wouldn’t have thrown himself in front of the car in a desperate attempt to just keep Dean from leaving. Seth’s supposed to be the smart one, the brains of the operation, the architect. But when it comes to Dean, all his plans tend to short-circuit. His heart takes over his head and he just, _does things_. It’s no wonder Dean is always getting himself into situations like this, but usually it’s Seth bailing him out. Now they’re just in free fall, neither one of them able to save the other, but...here they are. 

Dean could have left him in that parking lot. Someone would have found him, the med team would have treated him. But instead, here they are. Free falling in the dark, together. 

Dean comes back and hands Seth a cup of ice, an energy drink, and a bag of chips. Seth doesn’t thank him, he just takes it all, setting the chips and the can on the seat next to him before holding the cup to his temple. Dean is unsettlingly quiet as he watches him, and eventually Seth turns to look at him. 

“What do you _want_ , Dean?” Seth asks, softly, trying not to spook him or send him reeling again. 

Dean takes in a sharp breath, shakes his head. “I want you to _not die in a fucking parking lot_ , Seth.”

It’s a dodge, but Seth takes what he can get. “That was stupid.”

“Ya think?” Dean flops himself down on the ground in front of the open door, something violent in his movements, even towards himself. “The hell were you _thinking_ , Rollins?”

“I just…” Seth hesitates, casts his eyes down away from that ice-blue stare. Dean sees right through him, he always has. Through his armor and his words that he doesn’t mean, straight through to the heart of him. “Had to keep you from going. Any way I could.”

Dean shuffles on the ground, unsettled, antsy. “So you decide to do that by getting yourself run the fuck over?”

Seth shrugs one shoulder. “Well kicking your ass didn’t work, so.”

Dean snorts at that, almost a laugh. Seth just lets out a sigh and moves the cup of ice to his cheek. In the silence, that need to know _why_ grows again in Seth’s chest. Seth likes things to be orderly in his mind, he likes things to make sense. He’s used to Dean not falling into line the way Seth likes, and for the most part he’s been able to adapt to that, to let Dean be Dean. But this time, the not knowing is eating Seth alive. But he knows if he asks why again, Dean will snap again, and he doesn’t want that. 

“I’m sorry,” Seth says, and Dean snaps his head up from where he’d been picking at a thread on his sleeve. Seth sets the ice down and focuses on him, not wanting to miss a moment because he feels like Dean might run again at any second, and he barrels ahead. “I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you. And I know that’s not the only thing going on here, but I need you to know that I don’t think you’re useless and I don’t think you’re crazy. I just...Dean, if I knew what was wrong I could _fix it_. Just let me fix it, please.” His voice sounds broken and desperate even to his own ears, and maybe that’s why there’s a deep deep _sorrow_ in Dean’s eyes now. 

“There ain’t no _fixing this_ ,” Dean says, reaching up to tug roughly at his own hair, and Seth can see him shaking, can see him wanting to punch himself again, and it kills him. “You think you know me, but you don’t know shit. I can’t be fixed.”

“That’s _not true_ , Dean,” Seth pleads, reaching for his hands. He turns in the seat so that his legs are out in front of where Dean sits on the ground, and he gently pulls Dean’s hands towards him. Seth holds on, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his face crumpling as if in pain, but his fists slowly start to unclench under Seth’s fingers. 

“I’m sorry,” Seth says again in a whisper, and Dean doesn’t open his eyes but Seth’s gaze is fixed on his face. “I’m sorry I can’t be what you need. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. But if you want me to give up on you--”

“That’s not what I want.”

It’s said so soft and low, so broken, that Seth nearly misses it. His heart is pounding so loud in his ears that he almost can’t hear Dean’s words, so he leans in when Dean finally continues.

“I could’ve just walked away, maybe I should’ve, but I got this _noise_ in my head and it doesn’t _fucking stop_. And I wanted to hurt you, that night. I wanted to destroy everything, burn it all and not look back, but…” 

Seth knows. He _did_ look back, because here they are. They can’t just leave each other alone, because then it really, truly would be over. Seth blinks, because he _gets it_. Destroying him, chasing him, provoking him to actually fight Dean back--it’s a way to do what Dean feels like he has to do but still somehow _keep him_. 

“I’m still here,” Seth says, his thumbs swiping over the back of Dean’s hands. “I’m always gonna be here.”

Dean closes his eyes, tips his head, flinching like he’s listening to something Seth can’t hear. “I just...I _can’t_.”

“It’s alright,” Seth says, but he has to swallow around a dry throat and a pounding head from holding back tears. The realization is sinking in that he can’t have Dean the way he wants, can’t have him _back_ because there’s no going back. So Seth is going to cling to whatever Dean will allow him to have, even if that means fighting again, even if that means nothing but pain. If that’s what Dean needs to work through this, that’s what Seth will give him. 

Dean looks up at him, finally, but he doesn’t say anything. Seth just squeezes his hands. 

“Don’t run yourself into the ground, Dean,” he mutters, his voice rough, pleading. 

Dean nods, once. “Don’t throw yourself in front of moving cars.” 

Seth nods...once. He feels Dean pulling away, so he tugs his hands back, because there’s one more thing. 

“There’s one thing I’m not sorry I said,” he goes on, thinking back to that night. Thinking back to how he’d felt winning the titles with Dean, to how it felt for Dean to hold him so tightly, his hand on the back of Seth’s head, fingers clenching in his hair as Seth clung to him. The way he’d murmured in Dean’s ear, the one last thing he told him before the attack came and Dean drove his head into the mat. He doesn’t say it again, he knows better, but by the look in Dean’s eyes he _knows_ that Dean knows.

Without a word, Dean pulls away. He gets up from the ground and walks away from the car, his hands on the back of his head. Seth’s eyes follow him as his heart breaks all over again. 

It’s a long time before either of them move, but eventually Seth has to. He reaches into the front of the car, to the cup holder where he knows Dean throws his extra change, and he scoops up a handful without counting it. He grabs the ice and the energy drink, leaves the chips. 

The change in his hand, Seth gets up, his body aching in protest, and he heads towards the payphone at the corner of the lot. He has to pass Dean, who’s standing just outside the floodlight, half in shadow. Seth expects nothing, expects to be ignored, but Dean catches his elbow and stops him, turns him around. It’s a long moment where they just look at each other, Dean’s fingers clutching Seth’s bare skin as Seth breaks out in goosebumps, standing there in just his t-shirt. It’s not the cold that’s making him tremble, though. 

“I do, too…” Dean whispers, and Seth feels himself _break_. Tears finally leak from his eyes, he can’t stop it anymore, and he tips his face down because he just can’t look at Dean. Dean’s free hand, the one not still holding Seth’s arm, comes up to brush the wetness away with a gentle thumb, but when he speaks again his voice is rough with emotion. “I still do.”

Seth’s breath hitches in his chest, his face still cast down, his eyes closed, and he almost thinks he imagines the gentle press of lips to his forehead. But then Dean slips away, and Seth lets him go. He hears the car door slam, hears it start up and pull away, but Seth doesn’t look. Eventually he forces his feet to move, forces his body over to the payphone where he closes himself into the booth. 

He stands there for a while, not making a call, not doing anything. He doesn’t have his cell phone since he came right from the ring, he doesn’t have his luggage, doesn’t have anything.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally puts in the change and dials. He can’t remember Corey’s number, and something about that snaps him into focus, the knowledge that he left his friend hanging like that and that Corey is probably worrying. So he calls Bayley, and she picks up immediately. All Seth says is “hey,” before she’s practically screaming in his ear asking what happened to him and asking him where he is and telling him they’ve been _worried sick_ looking for him. 

Seth can’t answer all her questions right now. He scrubs a hand down his wet face and looks through the glass of the phone booth--part of him hoping to see stopped tail lights, a glow of red that maybe Dean didn’t pull away yet. But he’s already gone. 

He forces through it, spots the exit sign so he can at least tell her that, and once he gets that out Bayley is ordering him to stay put, that they’re coming for him. 

Seth hangs up the phone. In a daze, he opens the door and steps out, sits on the curb and holds the cup of ice back up to his head. He opens the energy drink, for once not even looking at the sugar and the calories in the thing and just starts chugging it. He needs to stay awake. He most likely has a concussion and he’s alone in a dark rest stop. He needs a lot of things, but _staying awake_ is what he focuses on. 

It feels like forever and yet no time at all before the black SUV pulls up. Corey’s driving, and he parks the car and gets out but stands by his door. Bayley jumps out of the passenger seat, and Seth stands up just in time for her to throw her arms around him. Seth crumples against her, his hands clutching the back of her jacket, his face pressed against her shoulder as he sniffles and tries not to cry again. Bayley smooths his hair and shushes him and asks him if he’s okay, but Seth can’t reply to her. She leads him into the backseat of Corey’s car, and it’s a weird sense of deja vu that Seth tries to just ignore as he climbs in.

Next to him on the seat are his bags and his title, and Corey is talking, telling him about how they’ve been driving around looking for him. Bayley keeps peering behind her from the passenger seat, as if afraid to leave him alone back there, and Seth knows he must look like a complete mess. Still he says nothing, it’s like there’s a buzzing in his ears--or maybe that’s just the concussion. 

“ _Seth_?” Corey says, and by the tone of his voice Seth can tell he’s been trying to get his attention. Seth blinks and sees Corey’s eyes glance at him in the rearview. “You don’t have to tell us what happened with Dean, alright? But you look like you got hit by a truck.”

Seth huffs a humorless laugh. “That’s not a bad guess, man.” 

Bayley makes a half-contained squawk of worry before she claps her hand over her mouth. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Seth goes on. He doesn’t know why he’s defending Dean, except he _does_. “I did it myself.”

He hears Corey let out a clenched breath through his nose, and Bayley says his name softly. Then she’s unbuckling her seatbelt and climbing between the two front seats and into the back with him. 

“Bail…” he sighs, because he doesn’t want to be fussed over, but she’s already settling herself next to him. He’s glad that she doesn’t say anything else. She just gets a small first aid kit out of her own bag and starts patching up his scrapes and cuts, and Seth lets her. 

Eventually she leans her head against his shoulder, the three of them quiet as Corey drives. She doesn’t tell him that it’ll be alright, and he doesn’t lie and say he’s fine. But Seth is done wishing things could go back to the way things were. All he can do is move forward, Dean saw to that, Dean _insisted_ on it. Seth still doesn’t know what that means for him, for _them_ , but there’s nothing he can do about it. 

He turns his face into Bayley’s hair and closes his eyes, but for the first time that night he feels far from sleep. Bayley whispers, so only Seth can hear, “Do you love him?”

Seth sighs, defeated and heartbroken, but there’s only one answer. 

“I still do.”


End file.
